


want you in my room

by Skepticamoeba



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, Fem!Elim, Fem!Julian, Getting Together, Haircuts, Julian's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepticamoeba/pseuds/Skepticamoeba
Summary: Julian is a fidgeter, and she knows this, and she’s reckoned with it. She has her strategies so that it doesn’t become a distraction or a hindrance during her work. That she keeps her hair cropped close and combed back away from her face is both an aesthetic choice and very, very purposeful. So, the fact that her hair is now long enough to pull back into a ponytail is a problem.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	want you in my room

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song Fubu by Ambré

Julian is a fidgeter, and she knows this, and she’s reckoned with it. She has her strategies so that it doesn’t become a distraction or a hindrance during her work. That she keeps her hair cropped close and combed back away from her face is both an aesthetic choice and very, very purposeful. So, the fact that her hair is now long enough to pull back into a ponytail is a problem. She finds herself constantly flicking the hair away from her face, and if she wears clips or barrettes, they feel so foreign that she just can’t stop her hands from tugging on them, clipping and unclipping them, tapping against them as she thinks. The tickle of hair at the back of her neck drives her up the wall. It would be so simple to go get a haircut if only Julian hadn’t signed the form for the station’s hairstylist to go on premature maternity leave.

Julian sits frowning down into her plate of gagh at _the_ _table_ in the replimat—the one for lunches, and discussions, and footsie that is most definitely _not_ footsie--thinking of the ways she could possibly trim her own hair. She’d done it a few times as a teenager, resulting in terrible undercuts with bald patches that took far too long to grow. Then, there was that unfortunate incident with her eyebrows. She reaches up to rub one of them, as if to assure herself that they are, indeed, still there.

Julian hears the muted click of Garak’s low heels before she sees her. Garak swans into the replimat, the very epitome of being at ease, and blandly surveys the other people seated at tables. Julian had slept in too late to do anything but rush from her quarters in time for her shift in medbay, so she hadn’t been able to take her time and peek into Garak’s shop. It’s a bad habit, maybe, but seeing Garak makes her happy like little else, and the energy carries her through the day. With that routine interrupted, it’s only now that Julian’s able to appreciate what Garak’s wearing (another private delight.)

Garak’s dressed in earth tones, the tunic flatteringly tailored to show off her neck, v-cut collar dipping just below the spoon on her chest. A red-lined ribbed belt cinches the fabric together at Garak’s plump middle and her pants are loose, flared so that they almost look like a pleated skirt if Garak stays still. Swaying back and forth with Garak’s every movement, are golden dangly earrings. The single chain of each one ends in a teardrop-shaped turquoise-colored gem.

Julian feels herself flush when Garak finally looks at her and Garak’s lips part around a toothy grin. Her already serpentine eyes are emphasized by the black liner and her dark olive lipstick makes the sharp amusement on her face all the more stark. Julian self-consciously pats her hair, quickly pulls her hands into her lap, changes her mind and sets her elbows on the table, and finally ends up rubbing her eyebrow again nervously. Though her uniform relieves her of the responsibility of dressing herself, at times Julian feels terribly underdressed. Or maybe Garak is simply always overdressed.

Garak slows her walking next to the table and stares at Julian for a long moment.

“You seem more… restless than usual, Doctor,” she says, wrinkling her nose with a small sniff. Her brows raise in faint amusement and Julian is sure she’s blushing even darker. Garak sets her satchel down by her chair and squeezes Julian’s shoulder, perfectly manicured blue nails digging in just slighting, as she makes her way to the replicator.

Julian lets out a noisy sigh and her shoulders slump. She leans forward, pressing her face into her hands. She’s _cool_. She’s so cool, and suave, and subtle. Just like what Garak must, surely, be attracted to. Yes, she’s not at all nearly as nervous as her silly brain has convinced her of. Cardassian hearing, thankfully, is not the keenest, or else Julian suspects that Garak would already be onto her simply based on her heartbeat.

Julian has an obsessive need to be liked. By everyone. She knows she’s not successful, as her carousel of partners would suggest, but she doesn’t think she’s ever gotten particularly nervous about expressing her interest in _them_. This is, all told, pretty terrifying in a distinctly new way. She doesn’t think she’s overconfident in her skills (in any area) but, well, perhaps her augmentations have made her able to carry herself with a certain degree of confidence. Garak throws a wrench in it all. With her sly glances, teasing comments, and infuriating wide-eyed provocations, Julian always feels like they’re toe-to-toe.

But there are other things, too, Julian thinks as Garak returns and takes the seat across from her. It’s not all hostile, or else Julian wouldn’t feel so flustered around Garak.

Garak primly unfolds her cloth napkin, smoothing out the folds with her thumb before she drapes it over her lap. She lifts her shoulders with her small, content smile, a gesture Julian’s well-familiar with. Julian realizes she’s been staring too long when Garak purses her lips. Julian sits up straight so quickly her elbows knock her fork from the table and she has to fumble for it. Garak lets out a titter and Julian smiles at her wryly.

“Ah, Doctor, I’ve _so_ been looking forward to our lunch today,” Garak says, clapping her hands together twice and shaking her head. “I got the most dreadfully complex order and it’s had me in piles of patterns all morning.”

“You look better, though. Now that the, ah…” Julian gestures vaguely to the side where Garak’s implant used to be. “Now that it’s gone.”

“Mmm,” Garak replies noncommittally. “I do appreciate the alterations you had O’Brien put in place for my quarters. What you had to do in exchange, I can’t imagine. I doubt he was feeling particularly charitable, seeing as he doesn’t like me much.”

“No favor needed. I just cajoled him until he did it.”

Garak looks up from methodically taking off all the rings on her fingers and lining them up on the table. She has a distinctly unconvinced expression on her face. The expression turns into a small frown as she continues watching Julian. “Your hair is quite long now. I’ve never seen you wear it this long.”

“Huh?” Julian hasn’t even said anything about it. She thinks back on the conversation and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t said anything.

“Your hair.” Garak sets her spoon down with a small _clink_ , giving Julian her full attention. “You keep touching it. Tugging and flicking and such.”

“Oh,” Julian says. True enough, she’s been petting and rubbing the ends of her ponytail between her fingers. She lifts the ends and releases them, watching the strands fall back down to her shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s so bothersome.”

Garak’s own hair has been left long on top and back, trimmed on the sides in a style very reminiscent of a feathery mullet. She runs her fingers through her hair with a smug smile. Garak doesn’t even have to say anything—Julian knows her hair is a point of pride.

“If it’s that much of a nuisance, I can cut it for you.” Garak shrugs.

“Seriously?” Julian must sound too eager because Garak sits back and puts her hands down on the table.

“Well, yes. I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

“That would be such a help.” Julian grins and bounces a little in her seat, giddy. “I’ve been thinking about what to do all day! As you must know, Peleya, the hairdresser, is on leave. I thought about doing it myself, but that’s far from ideal and I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I suppose I could take it all off—buzz it to the scalp.”

“You seem to have no concern at all about letting me get near you with a pair of scissors,” Garak points out. She grabs her spoon and blows on her soup, waiting for it to cool down. Julian waves her hands dismissively.

“You’re a _tailor_. Using scissors should be second nature to you.”

“They’re fabric cutters. Very different instruments, you know.”

“Yes, well.” Julian drums her fingers on the edge of the table with a small snicker. “I’ll hold you accountable should anything happen to me, but I think you, maybe, perhaps, like me a bit too much.”

Garak doesn’t answer. In fact, she doesn’t even look at Julian. She simply sips on her soup loudly and obnoxiously. However, under the table, she lightly knocks the side of her foot against Julian’s shin.

****

At the end of Alpha shift, Julian takes off her scrubs, hands off the medbay to her nurses, and heads to Garak’s shop. She leans against one of the bulkheads at the doorway, arms crossed as she watches Garak fuss around with putting things in their place before she closes up. Her hair’s been pulled up into a messy bun and there are, truly, an unfortunate amount of patterns strewn everywhere. On the desk, on the floor—Julian has rarely seen the shop in such disarray. Still, despite Garak’s complaints at lunch, there’s a thrilled flush to Garak’s skin that belies her excitement. Garak always gets so absorbed when she’s in the middle of a large project. Julian finds it quite endearing.

“I do hope you won’t take much longer,” Julian drawls. “I’ve been on my feet practically all day and would love to get off of them.”

Garak spares her a glance and she jabs the pattern in her hands with a sewing pin.

“Just sit—“ Garak waves “—wherever. Give me that.”

Julian gathers the patterns in the chair and passes them over to Garak, who immediately dumps them on a shelf behind her desk. Julian sits, leaning her head against the backrest and closing her eyes. The exhaustion of the shift is settling into her bones, and Garak is murmuring things to herself as she works. Julian cracks open an eye and snorts when she sees Garak’s face all scrunched up in concentration.

“Come _on_ , Garak. Work day’s over. Pack it up.”

Garak scowls at her and keeps working. Julian snorts again and closes her eye, threading her fingers together over her stomach and stretching her long legs out. She must fall into a doze because, next thing she knows, the shop is dark, wan light filtering in from the promenade, and Garak’s got ahold of her shoulder as if she’s been shaking Julian awake.

“So rare to see you with such low energy,” Garak teases. “You must have used it all up on me during lunch.”

“Don’t you always exhaust all of my energy?” Julian shoots back, rubbing the crusty feeling from her eyes. Her head feels tight in a way that suggests she’ll probably have a migraine later.

“I’m flattered to occupy so much of your mind.” Garak shoos Julian outside of the shop before she’s really made the adjustment from being asleep to wakefulness. Julian shivers as she stretches her arms out and yawns loudly.

“Did you figure out the, ah, whatever. Whatever you were working on?” Julian asks between two large yawns.

Garak’s face lights up at the question. “I did, if you must know. See, the problem with Rigellian fabric is that it’s so silky that cutting it becomes problematic. Fraying is so easy to cause, and your seams are just as likely to come undone. So, what I decided to do was, rather than what is standard—and, by that, I mean double-lining the fabric—I decided to triple-line the fabric. It may seem a meager change, but it truly makes all the difference and…. you are not listening to me in the least, Dr. Bashir.”

“I am!” Julian insists. “I just have no idea what double-lining or triple-lining is. You look pleased with yourself, though.”

“My talents are lost on you,” Garak mourns. “I would _never_ allow you to drone on and on without asking you to pause and explain.”

The turbolift judders to life beneath their feet and Julian rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’ll just cut my hair myself if I have to put up with this.” 

A scandalized look overtakes Garak’s face, blue eyes widening and lips parting in a moue of perfectly dramatic shock. “ _Absolutely_ not! Next time I see you, your head will be covered with a mop!” She pauses with a pensive frown. “You’re so handsome you could probably wear a mop with no problem, but why settle for second—no, third or fourth—best?”

“I could do better than a _mop_ ,” Julian protests, and it’s only mildly whiny. “You’re so uncharitable.”

“I have to keep your ego in check.” Garak gives Julian one of her patented innocent smiles. “Besides, I think you must secretly like it.”

Julian grumbles under her breath the whole way to Garak’s quarters until she gets an indulgent ‘ _oh, hush’_ thrown in her direction. Garak waves her to the refresher once they’re inside.

“You’ve got far too much gel in your hair as it is now,” Garak says when she catches Julian’s confused look. “Go wash it out and I’ll cut it after.”

Garak shoves a robe and a towel into Julian’s hands. The layouts of all quarters are pretty similar, and Julian’s been in Garak’s quarters before, so she has no problem finding the refresher. It’s a bit surreal to find herself undressing in Garak’s lavatory, showering with water that is still scalding hot on its coldest setting, and using Garak’s body soap. It smells earthy, like moss under fresh rain. Like Garak, really.

The mirror is fogged up when Julian steps out of the shower, drying herself with Garak’s far too fluffy towel (surely, custom-made.) She wipes enough of the mirror clear to be able to see herself. Free from the gel, her curls hang down into her face. They’re at neck-length at their longest. Her skin is flushed with the shower and smelling Garak on herself, all around her, is making her feel strange. She hastens to slip into the robe and leave the bathroom—to get some fresh air.

Under the adjustments made to the environmental controls, the lights in Garak’s quarters are pleasantly dim. No doubt, it makes things easier for Garak, but Julian can’t shake the notion of intimacy from her mind, especially when paired with the shower. Especially when Garak stops mid-motion to stare at Julian the minute she appears in the doorway.

“You’re quite becoming whenever you take off that hideous kit,” Garak says and the look she gives Julian makes a frisson of electric warmth course down Julian’s spine. Her toes curl in the carpet and she shifts her weight, suddenly all too aware of the fact that she’s barely wearing anything under the robe.

Garak waves her over to one of the stools at the circular table just off from the kitchenette and Julian takes her seat. The two of them are together in the room, not bothering to fill the silence with small talk. It’s not particularly strained or awkward, yet Julian still jiggles her leg as she watches Garak move around her quarters. Garak peels out of the cardigan she’d put on at some point of the day, orders two mugs of tea from the replicator, and disappears into the refresher. She reappears with her hair tied up, and a pair of scissors and a dryer in her hands.

She pulls the cozy throw blanket from the back of her couch and drapes it over Julian, tying it at the back of her neck. Her fingers brush against the sides of Julian’s neck and Julian shivers, leaning slightly into the touch until she catches herself. Rather than use a comb or brush—she says she doesn’t want to disturb Julian’s curls—Garak cards her fingers through Julian’s hair as she dries it. The exhaustion and tension Julian had felt earlier in Garak’s shop are not quite as strong, but Julian feels herself begin to relax more and more.

Once Julian’s hair is dry, Garak carefully redoes Julian’s ponytail and begins to cut. She guides Julian’s head where she needs it, tilting it up or down as necessary. Each clip is loud in the room, and Julian hears her own every breath, Garak’s feet shuffling when she moves. Lulled into a sense of comfort, Julian closes her eyes. At some point, it stops being scissors and it’s just Garak’s fingers rubbing Julian’s scalp, down the nape of her neck, massaging her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Julian mumbles, leaning her head to the side and squinting up at Garak. Garak’s hands don’t stop, inching back toward Julian’s neck. “Am I going to have to pay for an extra service?”

“The Federation doesn’t use any currency of interest to me,” Garak says and she releases Julian. “You seemed a bit more wound-up than usual.”

Before Garak can get too far, Julian snags her wrists in each hand. Garak jerks, twists in Julian’s grip, and has Julian tumbling head over foot in a flash. Julian looks up at her from the floor, chest heaving with a laugh caught in her throat.

“Ow,” she says, instead, and rubs the back of her head. Garak shifts her weight and gives Julian an apologetic look.

“Sorry, you—caught me by surprise.” Garak grabs a dishtowel and puts ice from the replicator in it before kneeling at Julian’s side and holding it against her head. Julian does laugh, then. It was hardly such a terrible fall that she’d need ice. Still, she takes the towel from Garak’s hand with a quiet thanks.

“That was entirely my fault. I didn’t think.”

“When do you ever?” It’s a joke, but Garak isn’t smiling. She still looks worried.

“Hey,” Julian says. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m alright.”

With Garak hovering over her practically the entire time, Julian gets to her feet. She belies whatever she’d been saying by immediately swaying so much that Garak has to steady her with a grip on her elbow. Garak sits her down on the couch and—with a steadfast, angry sort of concentration—undoes the knot of the blanket still over Julian.

“Um.” Julian searches for something to repair the atmosphere. “I haven’t seen the, uh, final result.”

Garak stares at her.

“My hair, I mean,” Julian clarifies with a vague gesture.

“Right,” Garak says slowly. She doesn’t move, though, keen eyes roving over Julian’s face. “You look pale.”

“Garak.” Julian holds up her hands so that Garak can see them as Julian reaches for her. She holds Garak’s hands in her own. “It’s not like you gave me a direct blow to the head. Jeez, what’s with you?”

Garak looks down at their hands and she looks uncomfortable. Julian squeezes. She wonders how far she can push it, as she so often does. She wants, desperately, to be let in. Garak looks up at Julian through her lashes, secondary eyelids half-closed.

“I can never tell what’s too much for a human,” Garak says with a puff of air that’s less a laugh than it is a sigh. “You’re all so delicate and yet you have no elegance at all.”

“Sorry,” Julian says. “We can’t all be so constantly well-prepared.”

“You think I’m well-prepared? Is that how I seem?” Garak gives her a strange look and shakes her head. “Incredibly generous of you to say so, after all you’ve seen.”

“‘M a doctor. It’s not the worst I’ve seen and-“

“Your bedside manner astounds.”

“-and, furthermore, you’re far more prepared than I am, at any rate.” Julian rubs circles into Garak’s palm with her thumb. “Like how I know you’re just humoring me now so that I don’t try to walk and see myself in the mirror too soon.”

Garak has the decency to look abashed and tilt her head down just slightly. She slips her hands from Julian’s grip, though, and Julian has to hide a smile. It’s not much of one, but it certainly is a pout at having been caught-out. Julian is not above basking in the feeling of triumph. She has to take her wins where she can.

“May I?” Julian asks, gesturing toward the refresher. Garak nods and stands with her, following Julian with a hand pressed warmly on the small of her back. Just because she can, and she has the excuse to do so, Julian leans further into the touch. The doorway to the refresher is narrow, so they shuffle in side-by-side. Garak calls for the lights and Julian leans in closer to the mirror, hands braced against the rust-colored countertop. Julian takes a moment to look at the pots of what she assumes are oils, creams, or beauty products lined up in a rattan caddy next to the wall. Garak bumps her shoulder with Julian’s and gives her a chastising look.

“I thought you wanted to _preen_ but it seems you’re far more interested in prying into my business.” Garak raises her brows expectantly and crosses her arms. A few feathery strands of her hair have come loose from her ponytail and are resting just at her collarbone.

Without thinking, Julian tucks the hair back behind Garak’s ear. She reaches down to brush the ends from Garak’s shoulders. When she meets Garak’s gaze with her own, she gives her a small smile of satisfaction. Garak has stopped moving and her lips are parted just the slightest bit around words that never come. Julian lets her hand linger, fingers skimming over the soft, iridescent scales on Garak’s neck.

Garak takes in a small, juddering breath and the hand on the small of Julian’s back presses down firmer, moves until Garak’s fingers hold Julian’s hip. Garak turns just slightly, just enough that she can tilt her head back a little and give Julian an assessing look. Julian’s mouth feels dry and her hands are shaking faintly. A short, nervous laugh bursts from her—far too loud in the enclosed space.

“Make up your mind,” Garak murmurs, alto voice a steady rumble. “Do you want to touch me or not? You’re giving me a bit of a, as you say, a bit of a runaround, my dear.”

“Yes, I—I want to touch you,” Julian whispers. “I want to touch you. Just don’t know what’s allowed.”

“Nothing I can’t see coming. That’s all.” Garak’s hands quest upwards, firm against Julian’s sides, cupping her neck, fingers scratching against Julian’s scalp. Garak pulls her down and stops short before their lips meet. Nods at the mirror, looking at Julian from the corner of her eyes. “Won’t you take a look at my handiwork? You do know how I so love my craftsmanship to be appreciated.”

Julian presses forward, her nose nuzzling against Garak’s cheek, their foreheads rubbing against one another. She feels the flutter of Garak’s lashes against her cheek. “I’m going to touch you.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because I don’t want to be thrown ass over tit again.” Julian cups Garak’s jaw between her hands, thumbs running across her firm aural ridges. Garak’s pliant, allows Julian to flip their positions and press her against the counter. Julian tilts Garak’s head upward and kisses along her jaw, along the soft skin of her neck until Garak’s fingers curl and tug at the fabric of Julian’s robe.

Flushed and swooning, just the tiniest bit, Julian pulls back and marvels at the dark blue blush on Garak’s neck scales. “How’s that for showing my appreciation?”

“Not nearly enough,” Garak says and wraps her arms around Julian’s neck, drawing her in again. “Not by far.”

Julian wastes no time in hoisting Garak up and Garak lets out a small squeak that she will, no doubt, deny later. Julian sets her on the counter and slots herself between Garak’s legs. She pulls Garak’s hair from its tie, knotting her fingers at Garak’s scalp and pushing Garak up against the mirror. Garak’s hands grab at her back, tug her closer as their lips meet again and Garak’s hips roll up against Julian. Julian lets out a surprised unintelligible murmur when Garak’s hands change direction and begin tugging at the belt on the robe Julian has on. They make quick work of the shoddy knot and soon the fabric slips from Julian’s shoulders with a whisper.

Garak pulls back for a moment, pupils as small as pins and lips kiss-bruised, the lipstick smeared to her chin. Her chest rises and falls as her eyes look over Julian’s exposed chest and stomach. She traces the edge of her blue nails over Julian’s navel with a curious expression on her face and Julian’s belly jumps under the touch. Garak’s touch becomes firmer in response, and her gaze flicks up to meet Julian’s. Julian takes a moment, is a bit slow on the uptake, but eventually begins fumbling with the clasp on Garak’s belt and tugging her tunic over her head.

Unlike Garak, she doesn’t need to pause to look her fill. She prefers to touch, now that she’s allowed. Garak’s skin is a strange mixture of textures, smooth like a snake on the tender parts, and rough where the scales are tougher. She’s cool to the touch, plump middle cushioning Julian as she closes the distance again. Garak seems particularly fond of neck kisses—makes these little panting noises when Julian teases her ridges with her teeth. When Julian bends down to kiss the spoon on Garak’s chest, she gets her first full-fledged noise. But that’s also the moment Garak stops being coy.

Garak’s fingers slip under the hems of Julian’s black briefs and she makes an intrigued noise as her fingers meet hair. Julian feels her face heat when Garak smells the air with her tongue and narrows her eyes at her.

“Surely,” Garak says slowly and sweetly in her low voice. “Surely, you don’t mean for this to continue here.”

Julian shakes her head emphatically, even as she shifts her weight to allow Garak’s hand more room between her legs. When Garak finally touches her with two cautious fingers, Julian lets her head drop onto Garak’s shoulder.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, my dear,” Garak says.

“You’re doing really good—great.” Julian nods into Garak’s neck as Garak’s fingers start up a firm grind for a good minute or so. The whine she lets loose when Garak pulls her fingers is entirely undignified and Garak exudes a distinctly smug aura.

Julian retaliates by picking Garak up again and carefully walking them through the quarters until they reach Garak’s bedroom. Julian drops her on the bed with a breathless ‘ _oof_ ’ but it backfires entirely when Garak, still in her fluttery pants, spreads her legs and props herself up on her elbows as she looks up at Julian with a teasing smirk. The sight is enough to leave Julian lightheaded.

Julian huffs and pulls Garak by the hips to the edge of the bed. She inches Garak’s pants and underwear off, muttering complaints about the unnecessary complexity of the closures on them all the while. She pauses when she feels Garak’s tail wrap around her leg, around her upper thigh. She looks down at it, and then at Garak with a raised brow. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her briefs and makes a big show of slowly easing them down her hips, satisfied with the way Garak’s eyes go lidded. That she trips on her own underwear when she tries to step out of them makes Garak fail to stifle a giggle in her shoulder.

“Lovely,” Garak murmurs as Julian crawls up on the bed, hovering over her.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” Garak says. Her hands are on Julian’s hips again, thumbs rubbing over her hipbones with a maddening consistency. “Your attempts to impress are very cute.”

“I don’t want to be called cute when I’ve got your legs open under me.” Julian admits she’s being at least a little petulant, but she’s not above embarrassment. She usually wouldn’t care but, well, it’s _Garak_.

Garak leans up and presses her lips against Julian’s, just a quick peck. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to see what I’m working with.” Julian gives her another kiss, lips half-parted. She presses their foreheads together before she inches downwards.

Seated between Garak’s legs, she rubs her hands up and down Garak’s thighs. She has no idea what will feel good, but she won’t be outdone by Garak who didn’t know either. With a generous amount of spit and tongue and lips, Julian licks into Garak and hoists her legs over her shoulders. Garak’s hands fly to Julian’s head, fingers tugging at her head. On occasion, she makes a muffled noise and a tremor runs through her legs, so Julian figures she must be doing something well. When she peeks up at Garak, Garak’s stomach is fluttering and she’s shifting on the bed. The fingers tangled in Julian’s hair clench and unclench with increasing frequency the longer Julian persists.

Garak has a bit of a tacky and dry aftertaste that leaves Julian’s mouth smarting as if she’s eaten too much pineapple, but it’s absolutely worth it for the way Garak whimpers high in her throat before her thighs clap together around Julian’s head and she goes tense for a long moment. Julian doubles down until Garak twists away from her.

“Wait—wait.” Garak’s hair sticks to her sweaty forehead and the flush suffusing her skin reminds Julian of that afternoon, when Julian had seen her enthusiasm in the shop. Julian wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sits on her heels with a grin, hands still caressing Garak’s thighs. “Come up here.”

Julian joins her on the bed, tucking up against Garak’s side as she catches her breath. Julian pushes the hair out of Garak’s face for her and Garak grabs her hand and presses a kiss to it. It makes Julian’s heart beat so hard she feels nauseous. That lasts all of a second because Garak’s hands reach down between Julian’s legs again. Garak pulls back to look between Julian’s legs and, while there’s interest, there’s also a calculated concentration that makes Julian feel a bit embarrassed. A bit like one of Garak’s projects that needs to get sussed out, re-arranged.

At first, Garak’s simply continuing from where they left off in the refresher, fingers rubbing circles over and over and ramping Julian up so high that she’s quivering with each pass. When Garak’s fingers dip lower, Julian freezes and Garak, noticing the change, freezes as well.

“No?” Garak asks, already pulling away. Julian reaches for her, shaking her head that’s less a denial than it is a gesture meant to re-center her thoughts.

“Not today? Maybe never.” Julian swallows dryly. Reminds herself that it doesn’t matter. That it’s fine and that Garak wouldn’t judge her or dismiss her. “Haven’t been… fond of it.”

“Ah,” Garak says. “Alright. Should I keep going with what I was doing?”

Julian nods. Despite the momentary pause, her arousal thrums through her like a tightly strung wire. “Yes, please.”

And that’s all it takes for Garak to rub over Julian until Julian’s legs give out and her mind goes blank as she clings to Garak. As the cottony feeling in her head subsides, she realizes Garak’s fingers are scratching through the hair at her nape and she makes a contented noise. They lie like that for a few calm minutes before Garak snuffles.

“Are you cold?” Julian asks with a frown.

“ _No_ ,” Garak says, elongating the word as much as possible. Uh oh. “You still haven’t seen your haircut. I might as well have given you a bowl cut.”

Julian nudges Garak’s side with her head and sits up with a belabored groan.

“Drama queen,” she mutters and gets up on legs that definitely do not wobble.

In the refresher, she’s pleasantly surprised by what the mirror has to offer. She’s not without vanity. In fact, she’d say that’s one of her guilty pleasures, but she doesn’t often have the time to indulge in it. Her job keeps her busy, but she likes to look good while doing it. Garak has left it a little longer on top, curls tumbling onto her forehead in a charmingly youthful look. The back is tapered very flatteringly, and Garak has even whipped her sideburns into shape.

She beams at Garak through the mirror when she shuffles in a few moments later, hair mussed and askew very endearingly. Garak comes up behind her and wraps her arms around Julian’s middle, the side of her face pressed against Julian’s shoulder since she’s not quite tall enough to hook her chin over it.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Garak asks.

“Yes, of course.” Julian turns around in her arms and pulls her into an embrace as she walks Garak backward into the shower. She boops Garak on the nose and grins. “I’ll stay as long as you allow.”


End file.
